


Salvage

by Viridian5



Series: The Same Old Refrain [2]
Category: Andromeda
Genre: Character of Color, Drama, Flirting, Humor, M/M, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-07-24
Updated: 2001-07-24
Packaged: 2017-10-02 09:38:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Viridian5/pseuds/Viridian5
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harper gets closer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Salvage

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for “The Honey Offering” and “It Makes a Lovely Light.”
> 
> In this or any time period, “The Dead of Night” is by Depeche Mode, “Minnie the Moocher” is by Cab Calloway and Irving Mills, “Mein Herr” is from _Cabaret_, and “Hū Hū Hū” (what Harper thinks of as the “heads of blue cheese” song) is by Dig.

Once at Dylan's room, Harper seemed almost diffident. "Hey, can I sit on your bed to listen?"

If Harper had just claimed the bed, Dylan would have been annoyed, but asking first.... "Why not?"

Harper pounced on it, then sprawled back, making himself comfortable. He had a gift for that. At least he kept his boot-clad feet off the bed. "Mmm. Much comfier than mine. This is about you being the captain, right?" As he watched Dylan insert the clip into the music player, he said, "Better player too. I'm just not living right."

"No comment."

Harper made an obscene gesture but closed his eyes and smiled as the music turned on. "Oh yeah, your copy is much better." Something about the way he moved suggested that he listened to the song with his whole body. Then he frowned. "That line is supposed to be 'We're in the _zombie_ room'? I thought it was 'the drowning room,' and I like mine better. Again."

"I preferred your line about 'decadent boys with decadent toys.'"

"Of course you do. Anyone with any taste does. Anyway, it's a superior line. I should be writing lyrics."

"I'd be sorry to lose you."

"I'd still be your engineer, but I'd be writing too. Keeping in touch with the working folk, keeping it real."

"I'm looking for something to throw at you that would only maim, not kill."

"I'm safe from you; I'm too useful to maim. You need to keep my hands and eyes and brain safe."

"That leaves your knees, though."

"That'd be more trouble for you than it's worth, trust me." Harper tapped his fingers on his arm. "Could you run that last stanza again? I missed it with all the talking."

"Do you want anything else while I'm at it?"

"A straight vodka and my slippers. I'm _joking_, Dylan."

Dylan rewound and started to play it again, then sat down on the bed, shaking his head at Harper, who was wiggling and rocking to the music and sometimes even making hand gestures as if he were conducting the song. Feeling weirdly at peace, Dylan listened along with his engineer to an ancient, nearly forgotten song about picking up women under false pretenses. Before this, he'd associated this song with his university and academy days, made bittersweet by the centuries he'd lost since then, but hearing it this way and in this company returned some of the levity to it.

That was it. Company, warm, living company. He'd missed having it. Needing to process what had happened to him, the loss of everything and everyone he'd known, Dylan had often kept himself separate from his new crew while not on duty. Now they thought he preferred it that way. And he didn't.

Harper looked blissful as the song ended. "Thanks. All I could get of the third stanza on my copy was 'All bah bah bah bah you'll regret / All bah bah bah bah we'll forget.' Way more bahs than should have been in there."

"You picked up all the lines already?"

"I've been listening to a version of it on and off for months. It all fell into place with yours."

Then Harper had no other reason to stay here. Dylan said, "I have other clips, you know."

Harper sat up abruptly. "Yeah? You offering again? You're not kicking me out?"

"Perhaps."

"I'm going to kill you, I swear."

"Any preferences on your selection?"

"Killing you? Listening to music?"

"Music. I'm not letting you kill me."

"Music. Okay. Is this a one-night deal?"

"No."

Harper leaned back again. "Then play me whatever you have cued up next."

  


* * *

Over the next few weeks, Dylan reflected sometimes that he couldn't have baited a Harper trap better if he'd tried. There was something so appallingly hungry about Harper where information was concerned. Just as he had with Andromeda's tech manuals, he devoured audio and video clips as if starving, even ferreting out the location of the crew's open share archive. Once Harper had argued that it was the crew's public stock and thus not possessions they held privately that should be left untouched in their memory, Dylan couldn't say no to using it. Soon afterward, Harper had quickly and systematically assimilated its contents subfolder by subfolder. Bluegrass, zydeco, Than thorax singing, Old Earth show tunes....

Though it had nearly led to a war in one of the maintenance tunnels one day, with Tyr demanding that "the boy stop his infernal racket" while Harper smirked and kept on singing, "I couldn't ever cross it if I tried, Mein Herr / But I do... what I can... / Inch by inch... step by step / Mile by mile... man by man...." Dylan had been forced to intervene while trying not to laugh at Harper, who'd brandished a soldering wand in self-defense and insisted that Tyr had no appreciation of culture.

To Dylan's surprise, Harper always _asked_ Dylan if he could access Dylan's personal archives and then always watched or listened to them in Dylan's quarters, usually while sprawled out on Dylan's bed. It was almost touching, since Harper could have simply hacked his way in at any time and from anywhere on the ship, though whether Harper abstained from that through respect or a growing sense of morals or something else, Dylan couldn't say. Harper didn't come by often enough to be a pest, and Dylan found that he looked forward to having some distraction while working through his day-end inventories and to-do items.

Sometimes Harper listened to music, read tech manuals, and talked at the same time. Sometimes he brought one of the public archive clips with him for Dylan to hear or watch, while he did his three or four other things at the same time, resulting in conversations that ranged from him asking Dylan about adjustments he wanted to make to the exotic matter drive to whether being a "lowdown hoochie coocher" could possibly be as funny and dirty as it sounded. Of course, the subject of "Minnie the Moocher" had also led to Dylan asking how someone could be a "roughest, toughest _frail_." Which led to Harper explaining the slang and the both of them estimating how much time it would take Beka to separate a man from his teeth after he called her that. Projected time of separation: 5 seconds.

Sometime in the midst of this, Dylan realized that his ship didn't feel as empty or overquiet to him as it used to. And why.

He also realized that he'd come to enjoy the scents of hair gel, metal, and electricity on his sheets.

It was an inevitable reaction on his part. Unfortunately, Harper's reactions remained a mystery. Dylan knew that his misery had been obvious that first night, so maybe Harper saw this as a way to be kind and take advantage of the captain's bed and "decadent toys" all at once. If that explained it, Dylan really didn't mind much, but he had to know for sure to have some peace.

  


* * *

Once they'd left slipstream, Beka stood from the pilot's chair, stretched, then walked over and elbowed Dylan. With no preamble, she asked, "Why didn't you tell me we were sitting on a windfall of music and video clips?"

"I didn't realize we were."

"Those public share archives. We _can_ draw from them, seeing as how they were your crew's publicly held stuff, for everybody to enjoy, right? You gave Harper free rein."

Now things made a little more sense. "You can. I just didn't think it would make much of a difference."

"Individually they don't, no. But you have a ton of stuff in there, most of it beautifully maintained. We can make a nice bundle selling copies." Beka's eyes gleamed.

"This won't be a distraction from your other duties?"

"Duty? Please. This is pleasure. A hobby. With my contacts and know-how, I can do this in my sleep. Don't worry your pretty little head for a second about me or marketing, advertising, and distribution."

Her enthusiasm amused and intimidated Dylan all at once. "Beka, you're scaring me."

Beka visibly pulled herself back from some shining dream of wealth. "Sorry. So you're fine with me using them to subsidize our mission of restoring peace and the rule of law? There's a big poetic justice here, you know. Or maybe just justice."

"Yes, you can."

"Great! Oh, you won't regret this, Dylan."

"I'm regretting it already."

"Spoilsport."

While she was here and in a good mood.... "I was wondering something about Harper."

"Join the line."

"Was he, I don't know, the Maru's hospitality management person?"

"Hospitality--" Beka looked at him like he'd lost his mind. "_Harper_? I've had clients asking me to keep him _away_. Too much mouth, too much energy, too much attitude. Though I did set him on this one guy who was getting too interested in poking around the Maru. Let's say that changed real fast once Mr. Too Much Information had him cornered every hour of the day."

"That's fine then." It made him feel much better.

"Is he bothering you?"

"No more than usual."

"I can talk to him."

"That's not necessary."

20 minutes later, Harper walked up to him and said, "I hear you've been asking about my possible past as a comfort guy."

"What?"

Harper looked at him so closely that it made him uncomfortable, then sighed. "You ever know me to do something I don't want to do?"

"No."

"There's your answer. I don't do pity hanging around." Harper shook his head, looking almost sad. "You could have asked, you know."

Weird to think of Harper being disappointed in him. Trying for levity, Dylan said, "You could have lied. I am your captain, after all. You could be lying now."

Harper's eyes sparked just a little, and his tone sounded light. "I guess you'll have to keep guessing." Then he walked away.

  


* * *

When Dylan reached his quarters, he saw Harper waiting by the door, looking thoughtful. "It's not often that I've been too subtle," Harper said. The look in his eyes....

Dylan finally understood. It drew him three steps forward to stare back.

This could be very good or very bad. The part of him that just _wanted_ said that he wouldn't find out which if he didn't give it a try.

Dylan put his hand on his shoulder and squeezed a bit, trying not to wallow in Harper's warmth and solidity. It had been too long. "Harper--"

Harper leaned closer. "If anybody's taking advantage of anybody, it's me of you. Really."

"You're reading my mind now?"

"One of my many talents. You gonna let me in?"

As soon as the door to his quarters closed behind them, Dylan leaned in close himself and watched in fascination as Harper's body stilled and his eyes closed. Just breathing. Trusting? Dylan kissed him, ran his hands through Harper's wild blond hair, and breathed in. He'd been sleeping with this scent for weeks, not thinking about it or how comforting it felt. Harper made a questioning sound against his mouth, so he parted his lips to let Harper suck almost rhythmically on his tongue. He tasted something sweet with a bit of tangy kick to it, probably some kind of candy.... He lost himself in that body to body, mouth to mouth press and the steady feel of Harper's fingers at the nape of his neck until he couldn't take any more and backed away. Too much, too close, too soon, too _something_.

Eyes gleaming, hair mussed more than usual, Harper licked his lips and gave him a wry look. "Okay?"

"Yeah."

"'Yeah.' You have this look on your face like I just ran you down with the Maru. Well, actually, if I did that there'd just be a smear left of you, but you get my point. This isn't the part where I knock you down to the floor and have my wicked way with you. Well, unless that turns out to be what you want. Hmm. Okay, this doesn't _have to be_ the part where I knock you down to the floor and have my wicked way with you."

Really. "You think you could?"

"You have no idea of how dirty I can fight." Harper shrugged. "But I could go now. Or," he backed up until the edge of the bed caught him at the knees and let himself fall backward onto it, "I can sprawl all over your bed, make myself at home, and keep on keeping on the way we were." He folded his hands behind his head and looked very comfortable.

Dylan turned on "The Dead of Night" clip again, but this time he sprawled alongside Harper on the bed. "I'm not sure what I want to do," Dylan admitted.

"Somewhere, hell is freezing over." Harper seemed to be incapable of remaining still while music played. Then again, he seemed to have difficulties remaining still in general.

Lying down next to him, Dylan felt every bop and wiggle. "I've admitted that before."

"Yeah, but you have this persona thing. This 'I always know what I'm doing' thing." Their arms briefly brushed.

"It's a captain thing. Nobody follows your orders if you have an 'I have no idea what the hell I'm doing' thing."

"We don't follow your orders anyway."

Dylan ruffled Harper's hair, then decided that he liked the feel of it enough to keep his hand there, which made Harper snicker. The snickering stopped when he started stroking. It amused him how the fine, blond strands clung to his fingers from static, following him.

"Thanks for reminding me of that, Harper."

"I live to serve. Me, mainly."

"I'll teach you better."

"You and what army?"

Dylan's fingers slid down the back of Harper's neck and stopped at the hard, stiff muscles in his shoulders. "Is this from stress?"

"You think I don't get stressed?"

Dylan dug his fingers in and tried to work the stiffness out, smiling a little at the sounds Harper made. "Did I do this to you?" Did he sound that coy to Harper's ears too?

"You're captain. It's your job." Harper groaned. "I think _that_ one came from Beka, though."

"Then I won't touch that one."

"You're such a damned tease.... This would work better if--" Harper didn't finish the sentence.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Harper."

"Fine. It would work better if we took my shirt off. Massage usually does. Or so I've heard."

"Why couldn't you just say that?"

"I just did."

"After I asked."

"Bicker, bicker, bicker."

"I wouldn't run screaming from the room just for you saying that." To help illustrate his point, Dylan let his fingers stray under the loose, stretched-out V-neck collar of Harper's T-shirt for direct contact. Yes, this would be much more effective.

That he liked the feel of warm skin stretched over tight muscle was a pleasant side effect. It made him smile. Doing it all for Harper....

He wanted this so much.

Almost as much as he didn't want to want it.

Harper "mmmed," melting a little, then asked, "'Just say so,' huh? Is this your evil plan to goad me into stripping? Frustrating me until I'm saying crazy stuff like, 'I'll show you; I'll take my pants off'?"

"Would it work?"

"Not while you're still in uniform. It'd be too much like that dream where I'm applying for my FTA license and I'm the only person in the room who's naked. And all the staring is having a negative effect on my... credentials."

"But it would be okay if somebody else in the room was naked too."

"Duh."

"I think I'm starting to understand how you work."

"Heh. Dazzle me."

"You talk and talk to lull people, then strike."

"Nah, I'm just talking. You're the one doing all the striking, and very nicely too, may I add."

It struck Dylan that Harper was deliberately trying to be harmless, making no sudden moves, speaking quietly and calmly, treating him like an easily spooked animal. As much as it touched him, it goaded him too, made him want to do something wild in response just to show that he wasn't made of fine-spun glass.

At least that was how _he_ felt. The part of him that was captain of the Andromeda Ascendant had different concerns.

It wondered if a relationship of any kind with a subordinate could possibly be fair and if he could be impartial while on duty during it. In a crew this small, a crew that mostly considered itself family, entanglements and disagreements became all the more dangerous. That part of him made him wonder if perhaps he thought to use Harper in his need for company, his need to be touched. After all, his last entanglement had been with Elssbett Mossadim, one pleasurable but empty night with a woman he'd known had been using him. Loneliness and the need to be needed had undone him there. Perhaps, it suggested, he just wanted somebody, anybody, and Harper had been closest, the first to engage him privately in a way that couldn't be taken as an extension of duty. It wouldn't be fair or right to Harper.

And what did Harper want out of this?

Harper sighed, sounding unhappy. Dylan realized that his hands had stalled on Harper's shoulders.

"This isn't working for you," Harper said. "I mean, this is working for you, but it's not working for you in your head."

"I'm sorry. I need time to think," Dylan answered, relieved that Harper had been the one to broach it. Coward.

"I know you do some things just on gut feelings at times."

"As me, I do. As captain, I only do it when it's necessary."

Harper nodded. "Yeah. I get that. I wasn't taking the captain thing into account. Or I was trying not to. I guess you don't get that option." Harper slid out from under Dylan's hands and got up off the bed. "I'll... let myself out. See ya." He left without a look back. It hurt to watch.

This was exactly why Dylan tried to avoid getting entangled with his crew.

  


* * *

Dylan's heart skipped when he saw Harper standing outside his door after his shift ended. Harper said, "I need to know something."

"What?"

"Do you want me to stop coming by? I can stop. I'll miss it, but I can stop."

Dylan hadn't foreseen this. He hadn't thought he could lose his times with Harper over this. "Why?"

"Do I have to spell it out? You know. It's my experience that you won't want to see me when we're not on duty."

"You've done this before?"

"Been rejected before? Yeah, I have a little bit of experience at it."

This hadn't gone at all the way Dylan had intended. "That's not what I meant."

"Small crews that work closely together, you learn to give people as much as you can to help them be comfortable. I learn." Harper shook his head. "But I never had anyone tell me that getting involved with me would be dangerous to the crew before."

Harper had taken his request for time to think as a polite, weaseling way of saying "not in a million years." Looking at it, Dylan saw how it could have been taken that way. "It's not like that."

"Then what is it like?"

Seeing Harper's embarrassment and misery made Dylan ache. He'd meant to prevent moments like this. "It's like this." He pulled Harper to him and kissed him, which hadn't been any impulse he'd given approval to, but feeling Harper breathe and shudder against him sure as hell made it feel like the right move. Harper kissed with everything he had in him, just as he did anything he had an interest in.

Once Dylan pulled back, Harper opened his eyes, looking dazed, and said, "A guy could really get mixed messages here."

"I enjoy having you around."

Harper licked his lips. "Yeah, I'm seeing that."

"When I said I needed time to think, that's exactly what I meant. It wasn't a final no."

"I like you, when you're not being a total ass."

It seemed like a non sequitur. "You don't mind me when I'm a partial ass?"

"Nah, makes you human. And I know you can be an _im_partial ass, so get that worry out of your head. And I know you're a smart enough captain not to take advantage of or mess over your engineer, because we can fuck you up bad." All said in a highly cheery voice.

"I'll keep all of that in mind." Especially the part about vengeful engineers.

"Think about it but don't take too long. Too long translates to no."

Dylan had expected anger, contentiousness, or sadness, not this cool civility. "Harper, however this goes, you don't have to stay away. You could come in now if you wanted."

Harper shook his head, his face blank. "I'm not in the mood now. Later, Dylan," he said as he walked away.

Dylan wondered how he could have expected it to go otherwise, especially if it hurt Harper even half as much to be on the receiving end as it hurt him to be doling this out. With this kind of judgment and diplomatic skill, he thought it a wonder that he'd gotten anyone to join his new Commonwealth.

  


* * *

"Come in."

"Dylan, we have to talk," Beka said. Her hands clenched and unclenched.

He could guess what she intended to hash over. "All right."

This angry, Beka nearly sparked. She and Harper could be so alike at times, all vivid movement, twin blond lightning storms, part-feral, not quite undisciplined but far from domesticated. Facing her like this made Dylan feel that he'd finally get the lash of Harper's anger, the anger that he'd expected to see.

A large part of him felt he deserved it.

"Will you either reel him in to keep him or unhook him and let him go already? He's had enough maybes in his life to worry about. You know, maybe his parents are still alive, maybe this is safe to eat, maybe the gangs have stopped looking for him, maybe this guy will really try to get him off Earth instead of swindle him.... All his life. We have some now too, but they're necessary ones, they're regular life ones, not some bullshit 'maybe I will, maybe I won't' his own captain is doing when he doesn't have to. Even a no would be kinder. Yes or no, Dylan, then live with it."

Dylan went cold. It had surprised him how heartbreakingly civilized Harper had been over this. Now he knew that Harper was used to it. "I didn't know."

"I probably said too much, but I don't want you fucking this up from not knowing. And I know that you're taking your time to try to avoid trouble, but it's too late for that."

The urge to ask her if Harper had confided in her faded quickly. Whether Harper had or not, Beka would know about the situation. That seemed to be how the Maru crew worked. She knew Harper far better than he did.

And it didn't matter because he knew Harper wouldn't ask her to intercede for him. No matter how much else Dylan didn't know about his engineer, he knew that at least.

"Soon," Dylan said.

"How soon?"

"Beka. Soon. I promise."

She nodded sharply.

"Beka," he had to let her know, "sometimes I don't trust my own judgment. Not with everything that's happened in the past year, the past 303 years. That's why I need," he laughed, because it was so bitterly funny, "time." Time. He'd lost so much time.

Beka's look lost some of its hard edge. "That's part of my job, Dylan. To help you with the judgment thing."

"And you'd tell me to reel Harper in."

"I'd tell you to do what's best for the most people. Alone, you're miserable, and he's miserable. It's simple math, Dylan." Having said her piece, Beka left Dylan alone, giving him time to think about it.

He didn't trust his judgment _now_? That had actually started 303 years before, when his best friend and sometime lover had used their relationship and his trust to destroy the Commonwealth, making the Long Night Dylan's fault, as much as Gaheris Rhade's. He'd known that Rhade was self-interested and ruthless but thought that knowing protected him. Rhade had shown the knife in his right hand to distract attention from the one in his left hand, hidden partially up his sleeve.

Harper wasn't Rhade, though Harper could be self-interested, ruthless, and treacherous, though Harper could have a knife behind his back as he waited for you to discount him for his apparent youth and vulnerability and come closer.... Dylan wondered sometimes how much of Harper's young, harmless, flippant air was camouflage, since he could sometimes see something darker nested under it. But it wasn't the same. Harper could be generous to a fault to those within the small circle that made up the people he cared about and saved the ruthlessness for everyone else. He'd never knowingly betray them.

Which was why Dylan had been far more furious with Harper over Beka going on Flash than he'd been with Beka herself. Because Harper keeping it from him and then him finding out that the Maru crew never had taken out all the overrides showed him that Harper's inner circle had an inner circle, and Dylan hadn't been part of that select, select few.

Though when he thought about it now, he saw how the situation must have torn Harper to shreds.

Sometimes Dylan wondered what Harper would have been if raised in the Commonwealth--educated, safe, treasured--what marvels he might have achieved, given what he managed now, self-taught, off the manuals he devoured. A golden boy, a respected scientist, a decorated officer of the High Guard?

He wouldn't be Harper. And somehow Dylan didn't think that Harper would appreciate him beating himself up and blaming himself for Harper being who he _was_.

Which still didn't mean that Dylan didn't wish he could have spared Harper the invasions, plagues, famines, and miseries of Earth. Hell, it probably didn't mean that Harper didn't wish that he could have avoided those.

No easy answers here, and Dylan would have given anything to be _sure_ that he was doing the right thing.

Harper and Beka would no doubt find the concept of certainty very funny.

Instead Dylan had a sweet and sour Harper made of warm, joyful light and dark, treacherous waters, who loved and hated with an unswerving intensity, who was too young and too old all at once, who made fun of serious things without discounting the seriousness. It should have been too many contradictions for one person to embody, sheer chaos, and it made Harper unpredictable.

By contrast, Dylan had always thought he could predict Rhade. And been proven wrong more than once, though the last time had been the fatal one.

No, Harper and Rhade really weren't anything alike.

  


* * *

When Dylan arrived, he heard music pounding through the walls of the machine shop. While he was working, Harper seemed to have a taste for fast songs that clanged and roared like machinery. This one had sounds like banging pipes and decrepit rotors along with its drums. Harper sang along with the fuzzy-sounding voice. "Heads of blue cheese / I love the way your heart bleeds / Cross and analyze / It makes for party time/ Far away, far away, son / Far away, far away, son...."

Dylan doubted that blue cheese had anything to do with the real lyrics, but he didn't know this song.

"'Heads of _blue cheese_'?" Rommie's hologram asked Harper.

"It could be. Who am I to question the lyrics of a guy who's been dead for a few thousand years? What do you think, Dylan?"

"I think I only heard it once, and that was with you singing over it."

Harper noticed Dylan seeing him plugged into the player even though it was within easy reach and said, almost shyly, "It's not just to affect the play capabilities. I like to be able to _feel_ it sometimes." He turned off his nano-welder and set it aside.

Dylan nodded, then said, "Rommie, could you give us some privacy?"

"Of course, Dylan." She winked out.

Harper pushed his safety goggles up onto his forehead, letting Dylan see his eyes. "What can I do for you, Dylan?"

"It's yes. It's your decision to accept it or not, considering the way the past day must have convinced you that I'm crazy."

Harper shrugged. "I already knew that you were crazy."

"Well, thanks."

Harper smiled, lighting his eyes. "Yes back."

Dylan didn't even let himself feel relieved yet. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. So, when are you getting off? Getting off shift, you pervert."

"Now. Are you hungry? I could throw something together." Weird how vulnerable that offer made him feel.

"I could always eat, but there's something I was wondering if we could do first. Wanna play some basketball?"

What was Harper doing? "You don't play basketball."

"Not your elitist kind that favors people who are freakishly tall, no. You wanna see Earth basketball?"

"I have."

"_Modern_ Earth basketball."

"Sure." He could use the exercise and release of tension a game gave him. Besides, you could tell a great deal about a person from how he played.

"Then get dressed for it and meet me."

  


* * *

When he saw Harper, Dylan said, "That isn't game gear." T-shirt, pants, Harper's usual boots. No tool belt at least. Dylan had changed to a tank, shorts, and athletic shoes.

"This is what I have."

"You don't have any lighter shoes?"

"Funny how I always end up buying things I want more than lighter shoes." Harper tossed the ball from hand to hand, then dribbled it a bit. "Nice bounce to it."

Between that ignorance and the lack of shoes.... "I thought I asked the crew to start an exercise program for themselves."

Harper just gave him a look. A long look with one eyebrow quirked, making Dylan remember how Harper constantly leapt over railings, used the Maru wall and doorway handles like monkey bars, and tucked and rolled backward out of tubes.

"Sorry," Dylan said.

"Thank you." Harper casually tossed the ball and caught it. "Okay. Rules. The lines on this court are meaningless, because the ball stays in play. Always. No fouls, no time outs. Carrying the ball is okay for short periods of time. Game ends when one side collapses or surrenders or the ball is stolen or destroyed. In the case of ball loss, the side with the most goals wins."

Dylan could be appalled later. "Got it."

Dylan soon found himself far too occupied to be appalled. The game seemed to be a high-speed combination of basketball, track, several varieties of football, and even wrestling at some points. The wrestling particularly distracted Dylan. Harper spun and leapt around and under his reach at high speed, showing an energy Dylan hadn't thought possible for an adult. He popped up at the oddest angles to smack the ball from Dylan's hands and had a good aim for shooting too.

"You're carrying too long," Dylan shouted, hoping it was true.

"Oh yeah, right, this ball bounces." Harper, about to lose it to Dylan, threw it at the wall on an angle, then raced ahead to retrieve it after it bounced. "Yeah! I play a mean game of pool too, you know."

Dylan, finally pressed into taking ruthless advantage of his greater height and reach just to keep up, started to win, but Harper made him work very hard for it. Very, very hard. His breath razored through his throat and chest, his muscles started to burn with exertion, and sweat soaked his clothing. It gave him some satisfaction to see Harper slowing and breathing hard and his wild hair darkened and wilted with perspiration. Dylan hadn't been physically challenged like this without losing meaning disaster for too long, and it felt good, even beyond the endorphin rush.

But finally Dylan needed a break. He held the ball high over his head, his arm straight up at its fullest extension. Tired too, Harper didn't even try to leap for it, preferring to attempt to lightly pummel Dylan into letting it go. But as much as he wanted to rest, Dylan would not submit, so he stood still and just fended Harper off. Tickling didn't make him let go either.

Dylan felt something hit the back of his knees just before he fell backward, but he kept his grip on the ball and even managed to use his other hand to pull Harper down with him. Unfortunately, on top of him. He grunted as it drove all the breath from him.

"Give me the ball," Harper gasped, his heart pounding so hard that Dylan could feel it. "C'mon, gimme, give it to me, give me it...."

"Hell, no," Dylan gasped back and kept his hold on both. Harper gave off heat like a furnace, and his shirt had half pulled up during his squirming struggles. Dylan realized that he was hard; he realized that Harper was hard too as one rocking movement atop him and against him made him moan.

Harper's skin felt wet and overheated under his fingertips, Harper's lips tasted salty against his. His hands shook with fatigue and lust. They writhed against one another awkwardly, but the friction worked like magic. This had to be one of the least graceful mutual humpings Dylan had ever been part of, but at the moment he really didn't care how it looked, not when it felt this good.

"Give me it, give it to me," Harper kept murmuring into his mouth.... Orgasm slid through him in a hot rush of release, unlocking every part of his body that hadn't already been reduced to jelly during the game.

Eyes closed, lost, Harper seemed to be suffering. "Dylan," he groaned.

Dylan stroked him to a finish through his pants. Harper had the most transcendent look on his face as he came.

After that, Dylan felt like lying around for a while, and Harper seemed to have the same idea, only his idea involved using Dylan's chest as a pillow. Once his brain came back online, Dylan said, "You sneaky son of a bitch." He hadn't meant to sound that admiring.

Harper smiled sweetly. "You needed _something_. And I told Rommie to put a privacy lock on the room first."

"Told her?"

"Okay. Asked her. Nicely."

"You don't usually play. I should have realized that you were up to something the moment I saw you handle the ball and say it bounced more than you expected."

"What play? In saner areas, where humans figure they shouldn't kill each other when they have Nietzscheans and Magog happy to do the job, this is gang warfare. Playing to exhaustion makes the losers less likely to do anything violently resentful when getting the results. At least on the day of the game. Since you let go of the ball, you submitted, which means I now get to claim all of your turf and tag it as my own."

"I think you already did that."

"Nah, there's plenty more to you I haven't surveyed yet."

Dylan liked the sound of that, but.... "We need to get a shower. I'm sticking to the floor, my shorts, and you."

"Yeah, yeah. You feel like getting up?"

"Not really. Give me a reason?"

"You're the one who wants to get up."

"I want to, but I'm having trouble finding the drive to. Give me a reason to leave."

"If we don't, everybody else will find us and figure that we were either the victims of an invasion attempt or a bizarre accident. They'll bring us to the med bay and--"

"Got it. I'm moving."

"Carry me?" Harper smirked. "I know that look. It says, 'Like hell, Harper.'"

"Like hell I'll carry you, Harper."

"Sometimes it's not so great to be right."

  


* * *

Showering woke Dylan up a bit, but Harper still surprised him with a sudden touch on his back. Dylan almost knocked his skull against the showerheads as he jumped.

"Hey, sorry. Just that public showers make me flash back to about 50% of the prison vids I've seen," Harper said, smiling almost shyly, as he pushed his wet hair out of his eyes.

"Does that somehow mean that you want company?"

"That and I want to help you wash up. There's so much of you to take care of, and I'm sure you High Guard boys have to stay freshly scrubbed to keep up your honor."

Naked, Harper's interest was obvious. "You want more already?" Dylan asked, though he couldn't help feeling a bit smug.

Harper stuck out his tongue. "I'm younger than you are. I recover faster."

"You're assuming I'll reciprocate by soaping you."

"I thought helping people was what the Commonwealth was all about."

"Your point."

"Don't scoff. You might have to do this to keep the Perseids or somebody in the Commonwealth someday."

"Perseids? No, just no."

"So much for doing anything to uphold the Light."

"I have limits."

"So, how about just for me? Yes? No? Get bent, Harper?" Harper asked.

Dylan soaped up his hands and half fondled Harper, paying lavish attention to his cock and balls. "What does this tell you?"

"That you're afraid it'll all break off if you press too hard. I'm thinking it should be more like this." Harper's slick hands "cleaned" Dylan's cock like he was trying to wring it dry instead, adding a wicked little twist at the end.

He was too old to be getting hard again this quickly. "Do you have someplace else to be?" Dylan asked, his voice coming out lower and husky.

"Hunh?"

"You're in such a rush. I like to take things slower." He smiled as Harper pushed into his stroking hands.

"Mmmm. Okay."

The hard, crazy edge taken off his lust from their session on the floor, Dylan took his time and was amazed to watch Harper do the same. He hadn't thought it possible that his manic engineer _could_ slow down. They rubbed, stroked, and kissed lazily under the hot, drumming spray, slick skin sliding against slick skin. Harper felt good in his hands, and he liked that mouth being occupied with teasing his nipples or sucking on his fingers instead of sassing him.

Not that he really minded the sassing much, as long as it didn't come during the wrong times.

Not that Harper didn't speak now. Being Harper, he kept talking, mostly to let Dylan know when he liked something. To the endless entertainment of Dylan's ego, Harper liked a lot of it, offering commentary like "Oh, that's good" and "That's _really_ good" and "Gah! That tickles!" and, a little later, "If you deliberately tickle me again, I'm going to kick your ass."

"You tickled me before."

"That was different. That was war. Besides, it didn't work."

Dylan nibbled on Harper's ear. "Does this?"

"Mmmm, yeah."

Finally, Harper thrust harder into Dylan's hands a few times and shuddered. When Dylan came, he muffled his moan against Harper's mouth, then leaned back heavily against the tile wall, head back, throat bared and offered.

Harper eyed it like he really wished he were taller, enough to easily reach. "We better get out soon. Water's going to turn cold, and that won't be fun for us," he said in between kissing Dylan's arm instead.

"You go. I'll be out when I find my knees again."

"C'mon." Harper dragged him out and started to rub them both dry. "I still can't get over your towels. I know people who would kill for these."

Dylan let himself be chafed, ruffled, pushed around, and manhandled, enjoying it all the while. Harper might not be tall, but he wasn't small, having a solidity and strength not many people expected from him. He had good hands too.

Harper kissed Dylan's nose, then turned to rummage through one of the piles of their clothing. Languidly, much of his usual manic air gone. It gave Dylan a smug sense of pride.

The towel around Harper's waist started to loosen, dipping and sagging.... "Are you checking out my ass?" he asked without turning around.

"Yes."

"Cool. Keep up the good work." He held up a clean shirt and pulled it on, making his wet hair spike even wilder once his head cleared the hole.

"You have a change of clothes."

"Uh-huh. So do you. Why?"

Dylan started to dress too. "How much of this did you plan?" Not that Dylan really minded if Harper had plotted out a seduction.

"How much-- Hey, don't look at me like that. I didn't plan the sex. I was all for letting it happen if it happened, but I didn't have an entry in my day planner or anything. I just know enough about exercise to figure I'd need a change of clothes. I save my evil mastermind-style schemes for-- Uh, I don't have any evil mastermind schemes. None. At all. For any reason. Nope."

"Harper."

"Yeah, yeah. But I didn't, here. I just wanted to loosen you up with a game." He smirked. "I have to say that I ended up being more successful at that than I figured." The smirk faded when Dylan towel-whipped his ass. Which led to Harper tackling him, then more lazy wrestling and nuzzling, but Dylan really had overdone it already.

"Bed, Harper."

Harper nibbled at his ear. "Oh yeah."

"To _sleep_, Harper." He could only hope that Harper had an off button somewhere.

"Wrung you out, huh?"

"I just figured that you might take it the wrong way if I fell asleep in the middle."

"Your point. Okay, up we go."

As they walked into the corridor, Dylan said, "My quarters are closer."

Harper grinned. "Yes, sir."

Dylan felt tired and achy, but in a good way. A healthy, mellow tired and achy. He opened the door to his quarters with a flourish. "In you go."

"Me first? You're such a gentleman, Dylan."

Once inside, figuring that he could trust Harper not to get into too much trouble alone, Dylan put his workout clothes aside, took off his shoes, and quickly dressed for bed. Too spent to possibly get it up again, he didn't want to give Harper any ideas he couldn't follow through on by going to bed nude or half-naked. When he looked at himself in the mirror, he looked as tired as he felt, but he had a glow to him too. Along with an almost smug half-smile.

Harper was already curled up, deeply asleep, on Dylan's bed, his boots and almost neat pile of the clothing he'd played in on the floor at the foot. So he did have an off button. Kittenish in pose, with the day clothes he still wore making him seem like an overtired child who'd finally reached the end of his endurance, he looked so... cute that he made Dylan smile and feel weirdly like a pervert simultaneously. When Dylan turned out the lights and settled in beside him, he snuggled close and sleepily murmured something that sounded like a question.

"Go back to sleep, Harper."

"Mmm-hmm."

Comfortable, Dylan fell asleep himself immediately.

  


* * *

Harper woke Dylan up in the middle of the sleep shift by rubbing against him. At first it made Dylan smirk, until he heard the subtle sounds of panic in Harper's breathing and felt the restrained anxiety in the movements.

Dylan only meant to stroke Harper to try to calm him from whatever nightmare he was in, but the first light touch woke him. "I'm sorry," Dylan said, wondering if Harper would be embarrassed.

Harper just shook his head, making his hair rub Dylan's fingers. "No, I'm glad you woke me up. I had the weirdest dream. If I didn't plug in to get this door open, my head would explode. Or somebody's head would explode. I dunno. I have no idea where that came from."

Dylan already had his hand in Harper's hair, so he might as well stroke it. "What is it like? Plugging in." The dark gave him a kind of courage... or tactlessness. Or it could be that he hadn't completely regained consciousness yet. "Damn, I shouldn't have asked."

Harper didn't seem to mind, settling himself closer to Dylan's side and sighing as Dylan's arm came around him. "No, it's fine. It's kind of.... It's like.... Damn. It's hard to describe it to someone who doesn't know it from the inside. I think... it's kind of like sex. Not that I'm hugely and widely experienced, but what I know and what I heard from a few other people suggest it. Sometimes it's sweet, sometimes it's overwhelming, sometimes you don't want it to end, sometimes it's too much, sometimes you don't get what you want, sometimes it hurts, sometimes you just want it to be over so you can try to get out with your soul intact. A lot of times... it's a lot like being fucked. You never know going in what's it going to be like."

Dylan didn't know what to say to that, so he just clutched Harper tighter.

"Not everybody gets through the implantation okay. Sometimes the surgeon screws up. Sometimes it doesn't attach into the brain and nervous system right. Some people have a system that's technically perfect but they can't figure out how to use it right. If you can't manipulate, filter, or process the information feed, it manifests like a kind of schizophrenia, and you usually go nuts."

Horrified, Dylan asked, "Why the hell would you open yourself to that kind of risk?"

"The other option was death, and I wasn't ready for that, thanks. I just wanted you to know that I'm tougher than I look. And, don't get me wrong, I love having it. There are so many things I understood much better once I could feel them and see them directly." Harper burrowed in, and his fingers clenched in Dylan's nightshirt. "I never told any of this to Beka."

"Why not?"

"She never asked. Sorry I woke you up, Dylan." Harper relaxed again and drifted off.

"Uh, yeah." But Dylan was too tired to process the information and too comfortable to resist the pull of sleep.

  


* * *

Dylan woke with Harper wrapped around and clutching him tightly like a security blanket or teddy bear. "Harper, I have to get up," he said gently.

"You're already up," Harper mumbled as he nuzzled Dylan's collarbone.

He had to get out of bed before it became impossible. "Duty calls."

"Duty...? Damn. I should have pounced you last night."

"You have to get up for a shift too." As Dylan made out some of what Harper was muttering, he said, "What a mouth on you."

"You weren't complaining about my mouth yesterday. Hey, can I take a shower here? Hot water is one of the great pleasures of my life."

"I don't know how I can refuse when you put it that way."

"I'll have to keep that in mind." Harper gave him a lingering kiss, with tongue, before getting out of bed and walking to the bathroom. He heard the shower go on soon afterward.

Dylan willed his erection away as best he could, then said, "Rommie, could you send a drone to my room with a change of clothing for Harper?"

Did she hesitate for a moment? "Yes, Dylan."

"Thanks."

Making breakfast helped him get himself under control too. An everyday, mundane task, but this time he scrambled eggs and made coffee for two. Harper would probably be hungry, and he had promised to put a meal together for him yesterday.... It had been a long time since Dylan had to think about the wants and needs of a loved one in his space.

When Harper walked out in the clothes he'd slept in, his hair wrapped in a towel, and saw the set of clothing on the bed, he just about beamed. "You didn't have to do that."

"You slept in those."

"Not the first time."

"Don't want to know."

"Why do I get the feeling that what you're thinking is much more perverted than what actually happened? I don't know where I get such a bad reputation from." Harper rubbed his hair with the towel and brought it back to the bathroom, obviously trying hard to be civilized. When he returned, his eyes quickly scanned the table. "All this and breakfast too? I must be doing something right. And good coffee is one of the other great pleasures of my life." When he inhaled the steam rising from his cup, Dylan could swear that he saw even Harper's hair perk up.

Dylan noticed that Harper hadn't said a word about the food and coffee sitting there until he saw two place settings. "Harper."

"Yeah?" Harper's eyes closed as he savored his eggs. "These are great, by the way."

Dylan crouched down next to his chair and kissed him, enjoying the shower heat rising from his damp skin. "I like having you for breakfast."

Harper seemed to light up from the inside, bright and pure. Then his smile twisted, gaining a teasing edge. "Yeah, but not enough to _have_ me for breakfast."

Dylan sat across from Harper and sipped his coffee. "Maybe sometime when I have a less limited amount of time."

"I'll hold you to that."

"Because I need hours to be able to do all the things I want to do to you."

Harper's fork stalled on its way to his mouth. "Oh? Are you going to tell me what these things would be?"

"Oh, I figured I would show you. Eventually. When we have the time."

"You are _not_ a nice person."

Dylan thought that he could get used to this.

 

### End


End file.
